


Like father, like son

by flipflop_diva



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Father Figures, Gen, Humor, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: Captain Ray Holt has one mistake in his career path that has haunted him forever. Now, with Jake's help, he can right that wrong. All they have to do is go undercover and pretend to be father and son. Nothing to it.





	Like father, like son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookiegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/gifts).



> Written for the 2019 Fandom 5k Exchange. Based on cookiegirl's prompt to _see any story exploring Holt & Jake's relationship and how it has father-son aspects_. 
> 
> I had a ton of fun writing this. I hope you enjoy!

“Peralta. My office please.”

A hush fell over the precinct, just like it always did when Captain Holt stuck his head out the door and gravely called for someone to come to him, like a father ordering his child to his office where he would then tell said child he was very disappointed in him and he was grounded for life, not that Jake had any experience with that but he did watch a lot of movies and that was always what happened.

Jake frowned, looking around the precinct. Amy looked horrorstruck as always that someone dared to do something not according to the rules and was now being called to Holt’s office. Terry was shaking his head like he knew Jake was going to get in _so much_ trouble. Rosa looked bored. Gina was texting. Hitchcock and Scully were nowhere to be seen. Charles was shaking his head like a broken toy.

“Did we do something?” Jake whispered to him. He knew he had approximately ten seconds to get up from his chair and make his way across the room to Holt’s office, which did not leave him much time to go through the entire week. He tried to think back. There was that totally awesome and amazing arrest of the Bubble Gum Bandit (named for his bubble gum pink sweater he always wore during robberies, not because he stole bubble gum since that would be a stupid thing to be proud of arresting someone for). There was the short period of time he tried to pass his paperwork off on Amy, but she scolded him about it for ten minutes and didn’t appear to be stopping so he just did it and finished it before she stopped droning on about how he was always a disappointment when it came to the final touches and he needed to step it up because the correct paperwork was the key to a well run system. And then there was the other day when he and Gina swapped out the cookies in the vending machine for a packet of salad and Hitchcock had screamed at the vending machine for an hour after he reached in expecting his peanut butter treat and instead ended up with a fistful of lettuce.

But Holt couldn’t be mad about that, right? He hadn’t even been in the office when that happened.

But oh, crap, it had been more than ten seconds and Jake was still sitting at his desk and Charles was still shaking his head like a broken toy and Holt was still standing by his partially open door, poking his head out, but did his eyebrows just press together more?

“Peralta, did you hear me? I need a word please.”

Jake swore he could hear the laughter in the silence of the precinct. 

“Coming, Dad, I mean, Sir!” he stammered and leaped up from his chair.

“Did you just call me dad?” Holt asked as Jake practically flew across the room while also trying to seem nonchalant but also trying to hurry because he just knew everyone was going to talk about him behind his back the moment the door closed, damn them, he was the only one who was supposed to talk about people behind their backs.

“Of course not,” Jake said in a strangely high-pitched voice as he approached Holt’s office. Holt moved to open the door just enough for Jake to fit through and quickly closed it behind him once he was inside, like they were on a stakeout and he couldn’t let anyone else see what he was doing.

“It sounded like you called me dad,” Holt said.

“You must have imagined it,” Jake said, taking a seat and trying to seem cool. What did cool look like again? He leaned back, but no, that was too slouchy. Should he sit forward on the edge? Was that too nerdy? Should he stand? Should he ….

“Perhaps I did,” Holt said. He walked to his desk and took a seat himself. Jake settled on a cross-legged position that was not at all comfortable but he was too self-conscious now to move again. “It has been on my mind.”

“What?” Jake forgot about his uncomfortable position and dropped his leg to the ground, leaning forward and frowning.

“Yes, that is right,” Holt said. “I have been thinking about being your father.”

“Ummmm.” Jake looked around. What was happening here? Was he on some sort of hidden camera show? One where someone would barge in at any second and laugh at how he fell for this nonsense. He twisted around to look for the cameras.

“What are you doing?” Holt said.

“Looking for hidden cameras.”

“Why would a camera be hidden in my office?”

Jake turned back to Holt. “Why would you be thinking about being my father? You’re not my father. I have a father. Not that he’s a good father, but he’s a father. And you’re my boss. And not a father. And I don’t need a father. That’s just silly. That’s just …”

“I have an assignment for us,” Holt said, as though Jake wasn’t speaking at all.

Jake tried to focus. “An assignment?”

“An undercover mission is perhaps a more precise way to phrase it,” Holt said.

“Ooooh, an undercover mission?” Jake rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Does it have a name? Can we name it? Please? Can we name it?”

Holt reached into his desk and pulled out a thick tan folder. He dropped it onto his desk so it made a loud thud. Then he picked it up and dropped it again so it made another thud.

“Dorian Meyer,” he said, like that was supposed to mean something to Jake. Jake just stared at him.

“Dorian Meyer,” Holt said again.

“Okay,” Jake said.

“Dorian Meyer. The greatest mistake of my life.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Jake got it now. “You cheated on Kevin with Dorian Meyer?” he whispered, so no one outside these walls — and the hidden cameras that were probably still there — would pick up on it.

“Why would I cheat on Kevin with Dorian Meyer?” Holt said. “Dorian Meyer is a criminal.”

“I’m confused,” Jake said. “You said he was your biggest mistake.”

“Of my career.”

“Oh. Yeah. That makes more sense.”

“It was years ago,” Holt said. “I was new to the force. We were investigating a string of kidnappings. Sons of rich fathers being taken and held for ransom. Dorian Meyer, he was behind it. I knew it. But I was too hasty. I spoke to him before we had enough evidence and spooked him.”

“Whoa,” Jake said. Captain Holt had spooked a kidnapper? He must have said something truly heinous to him. “What did you say to him? Tell me it was something like ‘I will make you pay for your sins every day for the rest of your miserable life, you rotting piece of flesh!’”

“I said ‘Hello, I am Raymond Holt. I know who you are.’” Holt stopped. Jake waited. And waited some more.

“And?” Jake finally prompted.

“And what?” Holt said.

“And what else did you say?”

“Nothing. I knew who he was. I had nothing more to say.”

“And that spooked him enough to get out of the kidnapping business?”

“Yes.”

Well, okay, then. Jake frowned at Holt, waiting to see if this was going to go somewhere, but Holt was looking at him like it should all be clear.

Okay. Jake thought. Dorian Meyer. Kidnapper. Spooked. Father. Undercover.

Oh!

“And now Dorian Meyer is back in the game and kidnapping more sons and we’re going undercover as a father and son to get him to go after me so we can take him down once and for all!”

“Yes,” Holt said. “That is correct.”

“But wait. I thought he knew you from back in the day?”

“I look very different now.”

“Okay, but ...”

“Is there a problem?” Holt asked. “Because I can get Charles or Terry.”

“No!” Jake practically shouted. “No problem! Just, uhhh, we don’t really …. look alike?” Damn it. His voice was the high-pitched, squeaky thing again.

“You are obviously adopted.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Your mother was a crack whore who left you in a trash can and I adopted you from foster care at the age of three after no one else would take you.”

“Okay, that’s kind of cruel.”

“Dorian Meyer is a sucker for a good story,” Holt said.

“How is that a good story?”

“You are now my son,” Holt said. Jake waited for more, but again, more failed to come. But whatever. Holt was offering him an undercover assignment with him. Holt never did undercover assignments. And he definitely didn’t do undercover assignments with Jake. And if Jake did this, if he helped Holt correct the greatest mistake of his life …

Jake smiled, dreams of accommodations and a plaque reading “Holt’s Favorite Detective” glued to his desk — Amy would be so unbelievably jealous — dancing through his mind. This was, really, what he had always wanted.

“I’m in,” Jake said. He spread his hands. “Operation Mistake No More — em en em. Get it? M&M? — is a go.”

“No names,” Holt said.

“Operation M&M,” Jake said dreamily.

“Be at my house at eight o’clock tonight with one small suitcase. And call me dad.”

“Yes, Sir! I mean, Dad. I mean yay!”

•••

“Okay, this is not a yay.” Jake chewed on his lower lip and stared at the little gray suitcase lying open on the bed and the huge pile of clothes lying beside his bed. In all the excitement of earlier, he had sort of, maybe, kind of, just a bit, made an itsy teeny weeny little mistake by not actually asking where this undercover assignment was or what they would be doing while there.

Maybe it was at that rundown motel on the edge of the city where people were murdered every other day? Then they could solve murders and catch a kidnapper! Or maybe it was at that swanky resort that was featured in the magazine that Terry like to read and would explain why Holt had asked Terry about it — “Terry, what are you reading?” he had said — the other day. Or maybe they would be living in Holt’s apartment with Kevin. Which would be weird. But this whole thing was weird.

Or maybe … but, okay, Jake was running out of maybes, and he was also running out of clothes. Formal wear and beach wear for the swanky resort. Sweatpants and torn t-shirts for the rundown motel. Jeans and a button-down white shirt ironed neatly and precisely for a week at Holt’s house.

How was he supposed to fit all this into one small suitcase? And why was he only allowed one small suitcase? Were they flying? Cruising? Biking?

So many questions!

He could call Holt and ask, but then Holt would ask why he hadn’t asked before if he wasn’t clear. Or, worse, Holt would be so disappointed in his new son, he’d give him back to the crack whore who left him in the trash can and adopt a new, beautiful son like Terry who would make Holt proud with his big muscles and dumb abs and oh my god what was he doing and how should he pack?

In the end, Jake just packed it all, and so he stood on Holt’s doorstep at eight o’clock with three overflowing suitcases and a duffle bag filled with golf clubs and a chess board and a hulu hoop because how was he supposed to know what would come in handy?

Holt answered the door. 

“Hello, Son.” His eyes flicked down to the mass of suitcases on his doorstep. “I thought I made myself clear when I said you would only be needing one small suitcase.”

Holt pushed his front door open a bit so Jake could peer inside, and yup, sure enough, there was a little black suitcase sitting in the entryway that probably held one shirt and a toothbrush and a second pair of shoes because who travels without a second pair of shoes?

“I wasn’t sure where we were going,” Jake admitted. “I improvised.”

“You did not know where we are going?” Holt said. Jake thought his eyebrows might have raised a quarter of an inch. “But we are going to the father-son retreat upstate where we will show all the other fathers and sons that we are the very best father and son, so Dorian Meyer will have no choice but to try and kidnap you and we will take him down.” Here, Holt blinked, rather slowly, Jake thought. “How was this not clear?”

“Ummmm,” Jake said. “Don’t worry. Just got to shuffle a few things from one suitcase into the other and I’ll be ready in an instant.”

“I do hope so,” Holt said. “Our room reservation is ready for us in an hour. I do not want to be late. What sort of father and son is a minute late?”

Jake thought about saying all of them, but that was probably the wrong answer so instead he just started opening suitcases and throwing clothes from one to the other until he had everything he could possibly need for some mysterious father-son retreat in one place.

“I am ready to go!” he announced a few minutes later. Holt eyed Jake’s suitcase carefully and then looked back at his own very small suitcase.

“I suppose my fatherly teachings cannot counteract everything you must have learned from the crack whore,” he said.

“I thought you found me in a trash can when I was just a baby?” Jake said.

“Yes,” Holt said. “Exactly.”

•••

Jake was expecting a big, beautiful hotel for the site of the father son retreat. He looked at Holt in confusion when the captain turned the car into a shabby, non-descript motel that looked like every other hotel that offered cheap rooms and a vending machine for all your breakfast needs.

“This is it?” Jake asked. Maybe they were just stopping for coffee or something.

“Of course,” Holt said. “Where else would our retreat be?”

“I don’t know,” Jake said. “Maybe Dorian Meyer should up his standards. How do people at this place have money for ransom anyway?”

Holt parked in an empty spot in front of what looked like the front office. “Are you ready?” he asked Jake.

“Yes, Sir! I mean, yes, Dad!”

Holt pulled the keys out of the ignition and slid them into the pocket of his jacket. “I cannot let Dorian Meyer escape again.”

“No, definitely not. We will catch him in the act.”

“Alright then.” Holt unfastened his seatbelt. “Let’s do this, Son.”

They both got out of the car, grabbing their suitcases from the trunk. The front office was as dingy as it looked like it would be. There was one small desk with a grumpy looking man sitting behind it, stuffing his face with a bag of Oreos that was half eaten. A pile of crumbs was all over the man and the floor. Jake tried not to wrinkle his nose.

“Checking in for the father-son retreat,” Captain Holt announced as he walked up to the grumpy looking man. Jake pretended to do what all kids do when their parents take them to a hotel and looked all around the room. There was one picture on the wall of a family — a father with a long dark beard, a mother in a faded yellow sundress and two skinny kids with freckles and big noses. Jake thought maybe he saw some resemblance between the grumpy old man and one of the skinny kids in the photo.

“Name,” the grumpy old man asked Holt.

“Raymond and Jake Holt,” the captain said. 

“Picture ID and credit card,” the grumpy old man commanded. Holt opened his wallet and handed them both over.

“We are very excited for the retreat,” Hold told the man. “My son and I are eager to share in the bonding of the father and son ritual.”

“Yeah, okay,” the grumpy man said, barely casting a look at either of them. The man turned around and wiped his grimy Oreo-covered hands over a bunch of keys before selecting one and handing it to Holt. “Room one ten,” he said. “Retreat’s out by the pool.”

“Thank you,” Holt said, taking the key a little gingerly, probably to avoid the clump of Oreo frosting on the side. “We will be heading there now.”

“Yeah,” the grumpy man said. “You do that.” He picked back up his bag of Oreos and stuffed about eight of them in his mouth. Jake tried not to look disgusted. He had seen Scully do that once and thought it was one of the worst things he had ever witnessed. He had a feeling if he watched this grumpy man eat for too much longer he was going to owe Scully an apology.

Holt had already turned and was wheeling his tiny suitcase out the door of the office. Jake followed him. Room one ten turned out to be just a few doors down from the front office. Holt had to jiggle the key in the lock for a bit before he finally got the door to open.

“Oh, gross,” Jake said when they stepped inside. There were two small beds — definitely not the queen-sized ones they promised on the sign out front — covered in a faded yellow bedspread that reminded Jake of the sundress the mom in the photo in the front office was wearing. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. The carpet, once maybe a light brown, looked stained almost black, and he was pretty sure if he even tried to open one of the dresser drawers that the whole thing would collapse on him in a pile of wood.

He shut the room door behind him and Holt once they had fully entered and watched as Holt checked behind furniture and under the beds and in the bathroom and even looked in the folds of the curtains that looked like they had been eaten by moths once or twice in their lifespan.

“Okay,” Holt said in a loud whisper. “There are no tracking devices here.”

Jake looked at the bed and contemplated if he could sleep standing up. “I sure hope Dorian Meyer is at this place,” he said.

“Why would you say that?” Holt said. “We have already seen him.”

“We have?” Jake stared at Holt, and then, “Oh! The grumpy guy at the front desk! _That’s_ Dorian Meyer?”

“Of course. Who else would he be?”

“I don’t know. A grumpy guy at the front desk.” Jake looked around the room. “He went from kidnapping rich kids to this trash heap?”

“Of course. I spooked him and deterred him from his true passion.”

“But now he’s back at it?”

“Why else would he be hosting father and son retreats?”

“I really have no idea.”

“And this time.” Holt paused to rub his hands together, but not really in the evil way one would expect but more like he was putting on moisturizer, “we will catch him in the act.”

“I still don’t get why he went from kidnapping to owning this dump.”

“His father owned it,” Holt said.

“Oh.” Jake nodded. “Daddy issues.”

“This was once a thriving and very — how do the kids say it? — hip establishment.”

“It was?”

Holt nodded. “I myself vacationed here years ago before I knew about …” He lowered his voice, as though someone might be listening. “ …. the kidnappings.”

Jake looked down again at the faded comforter on the bed. Were those bug droppings? He shuddered.

“I have a hard time believing this dump was nice.”

“It was very nice,” Holt said. “Dorian Meyer’s father was planning to leave it to his son.”

“Seems like he did.”

“His other son,” Holt said.

Jake remembered the photo in the lobby of the two kids and the parents. “He didn’t want it?” he asked.

“Damien Meyer …”

“Wait.” Jake held up a hand. “Their kids were Dorian and Damien Meyer.”

“Of course.”

“Wow. Okay. Continue.”

“Damien Meyer ran away before he could inherit the business. Their father believed he had been kidnapped. He refused to stop looking for his son. He went to his grave still insisting his son would be returned someday if they could just pay a ransom.”

This whole thing was maybe, oddly, sort of, a little, starting to make sense.

“So Darien Meyer started kidnapping boys to get his father’s attention?”

“And to get his brother back,” Holt said, like it was obvious.

“He kidnapped boys to get his brother back?”

“Of course,” Holt said. “If the kidnappers saw he was getting his own ransom from his own kidnappings, they might offer one for the brother.”

Jake cocked his head. Odd strategy, but okay.

“But then you spooked him.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And he ended up getting stuck running this place cuz the brother wasn’t around.”

“It was a very nice place,” Holt said.

“Not anymore.” Jake just realized one of the curtains was moving slightly on its own, and there was no breeze in the room. He moved a little further away from it, back toward the door. He was definitely not looking behind that curtain.

“Shall we change then and go to this retreat and bring Dorian Meyers down when he tries to kidnap you?” Holt suggested.

“How exactly are we going to get him to kidnap me?”

“He is drawn to conflict in father son relationships because of the relationship with his own father. I may have to be mean.”

Jake grimaced. He was more into picturing Holt buying him ice cream and a kite and them playing football together on a sandy beach and then a wave would come that he wouldn’t see and it would topple him over and he would go down hard and the water would be over his head and Holt would hoist him up and give him a big hug and tell him he was such a brave boy …

And, wait, whoa, where was this going? Jake shook his head. Right. Holt. The treat. Grumpy old man kidnapper.

“Cool,” he said to Holt. “Cool, cool, cool. Whatever you have to do.”

•••

There was only one other father and son at the pool, which looked more green than blue and Jake was pretty sure the cement at the bottom was rotting, which he hadn’t even known was possible and there was no way in the world he was getting in that pool. The little blonde boy there with his father was in the pool, though, splashing green water everywhere.

The father, also blonde, stood by the pool, yelling encouraging comments to his son, like “Splash harder! No! _Harder!_ I said harder!”

Holt walked up to the man. “Hello,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “I am Raymond. This is my son, Jake.” He pointed to Jake. “Are you here for the retreat?”

“Chester,” the man said, then pointed to the boy who now looked like he was trying to drink the truly green and disgusting water. “Michael.”

“Jake is adopted,” Holt told Chester. “I got him after his crack whore of a mother left him in a trash can to die. There was still rotting garbage on his head when I saw him.”

“Okay,” Jake whispered. “We don’t have to go into details.”

“Michael is not adopted,” said Chester. He did not seem at all bothered by Holt’s story. “His mom and I had unprotected sex on her kitchen table, right on the dinner plates — mashed potatoes and meatloaf — and then we finished dinner” — Jake tried not to gag — “and then we went at it again. And two years later this kid was born.”

“Two years later?” Jake said.

“Son, don’t interrupt the man!” Holt said loudly. He looked like he was trying to make a different kind of facial expression. Maybe a glare or a grimace. Jake had no clue.

Holt turned back to Chester. “This boy is a handful,” he said. “He still refuses to finish the crossword puzzles on Sunday morning before going out to play.”

“What?” Jake said, because he couldn’t help himself.

“I said don’t interrupt me, Son!” Holt reached out then and swatted Jake’s behind. 

“Ow!” Jake leaped forward, to get away from whatever that was, but ended up teetering on the edge of the pool. For one horrifying second, he had visions of falling into that green murky water and never coming up again or ending up in a hospital covered in some newfound mold with the doctors telling him it was never going to go away and he could never breathe fresh air again, but then strong fingers closed around his arm and he was moved away from the edge of the pool.

“I am sorry, Son,” Holt said. He looked at Chester for the next part. “I just cannot control my temper around this boy sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Chester said. “I get that.”

Jake rubbed his butt. There was a slight sting. But Chester seemed to be buying the whole relationship. Maybe he should disobey Holt again? He was really good at that, after all.

Before he had time to decide one way or the other, there was the sound of footsteps. Grumpy front desk man Dorian was walking toward them.

“Put some food out over there,” he said, gesturing to the other side of what looked like a wall but maybe was some food court or something.

Jake wasn’t sure they should be chancing anything that came from this place, but Holt’s hand was on his back and they were moving, along with Chester, to where Dorian had pointed.

“Come, Son, you must eat,” Holt was saying. “Perhaps then you will be better behaved.” He cast Chester a knowing look.

They were halfway between the pool and the wall where the food was supposedly waiting on the other side when Jake remembered.

“Does Michael need to eat?” he asked.

The three of them stopped moving and turned around to ask him, but in horror, they realized they had been fooled. Dorian Meyer had stepped foot into the disgusting green water, and with a scream from Michael, Dorian had hauled the boy out of the pool, tucked him under his arm and was starting to run with him toward the parking lot.

“Dad!” yelled the boy. “Dad! Help!”

“Michael!!!” screamed Chester, glancing back toward the wall as though he couldn’t decide between saving his son and getting some food.

Jake knew what had to be done, though. He started sprinting after Dorian and Chester.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Police! Put down the boy!”

Behind him, he heard footsteps and the sound of a gun and knew Holt was following him. And also carrying a gun, which now, Jake realized, probably would have been smart and he should have thought of that.

“Dorian Meyer, you will not get away with this!” Holt called as they ran after Dorian and Michael. “I know who you are!”

Dorian had made it to the edge of the parking lot. Jake sped up. If Dorian made it to a car and was able to get away before they got there …

But Dorian had stopped at the edge of the parking lot. He turned around slowly, Michael still struggling under his arm.

“Police!” Jake panted. “Put down the boy!”

“You.” Dorian breathed.

“Me what?” Jake said, but ohhhh, he was looking past him, toward Holt, who was now slowly walking toward Dorian with his gun pointed. Michael screamed. Chester was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yes,” said Holt. He stopped next to Jake. “It is me.”

“How did you find me?” Dorian asked.

“Your name is listed in the phone book,” Holt said. “And you sent me an advertisement for your retreat.”

“Did I?” Dorian made a face. “My bad.”

“It is indeed your bad,” Holt said. “Now put down the boy so I can arrest you.”

“What if I don’t want to go to jail?” Dorian said.

“It’s probably better than this place.” Jake couldn’t help it. The words just flew out of his mouth.

“Is it?” Dorian looked at him. “That’s a relief. I _hate_ this place.” He looked down at the boy still under his arm, like he had forgotten he was there. “Sorry, kid,” he said. “Here you go.” He set him down on his feet.

Michael looked around a few times, and then his eyes landed on something. “Dad!” he shouted and went running past Jake and Holt. 

Jake turned around to see Chester sauntering toward them eating a gigantic sandwich that looked stuffed with meat and cheese and tomatoes.

“Wait, there really was food?” he asked Dorian.

“Of course,” Dorian said. “I don’t lie about food.”

“Huh,” Jake said.

Captain Holt stepped forward, his gun still pointed at Dorian. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and handed them to Jake.

“Let’s lock him up for life,” Holt breathed. “Operation M&M a success.”

Jake barely contained his scream of excitement.

•••

“So you really pretended to be Holt’s son?” Rosa glanced over at Jake like she had never seen him before. They were out at the bar, a celebration of a job well done and a criminal finally brought to justice.

“He was adopted after a crack whore left him in a trash can to rot,” Holt said.

“You really don’t have to keep telling people that.”

“Seems fitting,” Rosa said.

“I’m so proud of you guys!” Amy chimed in. She was already on her third drink, and they all knew what that meant. “A toast to Jake and Holt!”

“A toast to Jake and Holt,” everyone else echoed, though not quite as enthusiastically as they could have, Jake thought.

“It was quite nice having you as a son,” Holt said to Jake when everyone had returned to their own conversations. “I quite enjoyed it.”

“I quite enjoyed it, too,” Jake said.

“I do apologize for the spanking. I was in the moment, and it just felt right.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Holt took a sip of his beer. “Yes, you are a good kid.”

Jake couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Thanks, Dad. You’re not so bad yourself!”


End file.
